


The Head, the Heart, and the Soul

by orphan_account



Series: 2255 [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Hannibal (TV), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, Star Trek, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: A LOT of canon divergence, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cannibalism, I have no idea what I'm doing, Multi, Soulmates, as most of you know, because Hannibal, but he somehow ends up helping, idk - Freeform, plot bunnies wanted all of them in the same place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Chitauri teamed up with the Romulans to take over the universe. Enter our heroes, who, like me, have no idea what they've doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

Simultaneously, every television on Earth, Vulcan, and their sister planets turned on. The Other, hooded as he always was, began to speak, adding to the desolation they had already wrought over decades.

_As you are aware, citizens and prisoners alike, recently there was an attempt at destroying this good empire._

_The hate organization that calls itself the Rebellion, the remains of the Federation of Planets as well as other government heads, managed to unlock all prisons on and in the space between the planets Vulcan and Earth, releasing several dangerous--even deadly--criminals. What followed was a hard fought battle, but the Empire, as she always is, was victorious._

_Now the punishment for these heinous crimes, you ask?_

_We thought to make an example of these traitors and fools. They took things we loved dearly--friends, sisters, lovers, killed in battle--so we will take something they love dearly--their soulmates._

_Six of their weakest, their omegas, will be chosen from the group we beam aboard our ship. They will be chosen at random--not even the lowliest, the least involved, will escape punishment. The ones not chosen will be mercifully returned to you, but in a week's time, the Rebellion will watch as their own are killed publicly. Remember that resistance is futile, and punishment such as this is all you will get in return. Remember, this empire will only reach its potential when everyone is helping. Remember:_

_For the Empire!_

_  
_The television clicked off, and life went on.


	2. Chapter One: Before and After Project Hercules

**Captain's Quarters, Suite B - Rebellion Headquarters, NYC, East USA Territory**

**February 19th, 2255**

 

The metallic _snick!_ as the blinds clicked closed made omega engineer Tony Stark open one eye, then groaned at the sight before him. He sat up in bed, the covers falling to his waist, and rubbed one eye in the dim light. The bedside lamp flickered. "C'mon, _really_? We've planned and planned--Steve there's literally nothing the Chitauri can throw at us that we can't take. We'll be fine!"

Captain Steve Rogers glanced over at his bondmate of fifteen years, smiling at the scruffy picture of sleep he made, before turning back to the myriad of maps and charts and plans he'd pulled up on the blinds. Project Hercules blinked proudly above it all, a result of nearly a year's worth of plotting. The Rebellion, even the Vulcans had admitted, needed more manpower, and the territories the Chitauri and Romulans had amassed were damn ear impossible to get into. Solution? Take the prisons, where hundreds of their men and sympathizers were being held. In total, there were five prisons they were going for: Shi'kar Holding, on the opposite side of the planet Vulcan from from the Rebellion' s overtaken territory; Outpost Gamma-III, just outside Vulcan's atmosphere; Outpost Beta-IV, two light years away from Vulcan; Thanos Holding, one light year away from Earth; and East USA prison, formerly Rikers Island, just within taunting distance of the Rebellion' s territory. 

Steve himself would be leading the strike, Project Hercules. Captain Kirk, an alpha twelve years younger but just as sharp, would be his subordinate, captaining the USS Battalion with his bondmate Spock of four years as his first officer. The ship would give off the disabling signal for an hour, then scramble the area for another hour to give the prisoners time to get to the Battalion. Special Agent Bond would be heading the Battalion' s shuttles to the various prisons, picking up their own people before booking it back to the ship. Special Agents Adler and Q would be heading the operation on the end of the British Isles' Rebellion territory, using the disabling code Adler had gotten from who-knew-where (they'd learned to just trust her, dangerous as that was). Tony had decided not to take a leading role this time, letting his younger bondmate come into his own, and would be working the main engineering deck of the USS Battalion.

So much could go wrong.

Steve started as arms, made strong from years of engineering an  metalworking, wrapped around him from behind. "Hey," Tony whispered in his ear. "Having second thoughts?" Steve shook his head. The Rebellion needed to take some kind of action, or this overwhelming fight would start to seem hopeless. "Then stop. We will go out tomorrow, no changing that, and worrying about whether we win or lose is only going to put us off our game." He kissed Steve's ear, like he had for the past fifteen years. "We'll be fine."

 

They were not fine--they were destroyed. Somehow, one of their best--Hawkeye--had been taken, and he hadn't escaped soon enough to warn them that the enemy knew. Knew the entire plan, and where they'd been fully prepared for Chitauri, there were Romulans. Romulans, who most certainly weren't killed just by being cut off from their mothership. Hawkeye had done his best, but they'd used some kind of- of  _truth_ slug on him, the remains of which they'd found eating his small intestines. 

And they'd taken Tony.

Granted, they'd taken six "random" omegas to be slaughtered on live television--and where did they get  _off_  saying that omegas were weaker? Their views were something both Earth and Vulcan had fought to get rid of a long time ago. Romulus certainly hadn't, though, and that must be where they'd gotten that half cocked idea--obviously they'd never met Magneto, or Agent Dean Winchester--Winchester would have had a knife through his gut before he'd finished his speech if possible--

"Captain."

Ororo was looking at him, as well as the rest of the meeting's attendees, with pity. Fuck what was the meeting about again? Rebuilding. Rebuilding and moving forward from their loss--they weren't going to look for Tony.

"You have a call from Vulcan," Ororo said, still looking at him as if he'd break. "Captain Kirk."

Steve nodded, heading to the ready room and trying to clear his head. On screen, Kirk' s image flickered to life. He was looking at the list of taken:

Tony Stark - Weapons Head

S'chn T'gai Spock - Commander and USS Battalion XO

Special Agent Q - Informations and Technology Agent

Molly Hooper - British Isles Rebellion Medical Officer

Rose Tyler - clerk and foot soldier

Will Graham - status unknown

Kirk was chattering a mile a minute, completely disregarding Steve's stony exterior. "...and there actually could be a connection, do these names really seem random to you? That pecking order they have laid out for us might be important for cooking up a plan--"

"We aren't," Steve said.

Kirk stared at him, uncomprehending. "Aren't what?"

"Making a plan."

Kirk caped at him, then began spluttering, fury rising quickly. "How- wha- what d'you mean you aren't--that...that's complete bullshit! These are people's soulmates we're talking about--yours, mine! You can't just be planning to--"

"We have to!" Steve shouted over him. "We...we barely have the names of the omegas taken. We've got nothing to go on to even begin to attempt a rescue mission--we don't even have a direction. I'm sorry."

He made to go out of the room and back to his newly Tony-less existence, when Kirk' s voice stopped him. "And if you did have one? A direction, I mean."

A spark of hope, painful in its impossibility, sprang up in Steve's chest. "You can't have a direction."  _Can you?_

A manic grin was spreading across Kirk' s face, one Steve knew meant either explosions or the winning of an impossible battle. "Vulcans bond on a telepathic level--Spock can too. They can sense everything from their bondmate's danger level to their general place in the universe. If I can sense Spock, I can find him. If I can find him--"

"You can find the rest," breathed Steve, heard my dating to believe it. _TonyTonyTonyTony_. 

"Yes, Rogers," Kirk giddily confirmed.  "I can most definitely find the rest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please leave a note on what you think!


	3. Chapter Two: The USS Adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a torture scene at the beginning here, but it's a wee little thing, and its Hannibal, so...  
> Anyways, remember to tell me what you think!

Dr. Hannibal Lecter watched on coldly as one of the prisoners, a Mister Mitchell, screamed before him. They were alone in one of the unused basement levels of the prison Hannibal oversaw, used only when he needed--sustenance. It was coming around the time when that would be needed, and Mitchell was the perfect candidate. Best not to let that on; Mitchell might be less inclined to talk if he knew he was to die regardless.

"Now," he said calmly, crouching so as not to get blood on his Warden uniform. The other man was panting, trying desperately to catch his breath. His arms and legs were bound, so he couldn't attack. He's tried spitting earlier,  but that had led to the _unfortunate_  salted gash on his upper arm. "Are you ready to speak with me like the civil adults we are?"

"Yes," Mitchell gasped out. "Yes, yes, just please--stop."

Pathetic. Hannibal had known Rebellion members to last for days under such torture, some dying before they gave up Rebellion secrets. Mitchell had barely made it to the thirty-five minute mark.

Hannibal smiled, though, instead of curling his lip in disgust. "Thank you, Mister Mitchell, you are indeed a reasonable man."

The prisoner sagged in his bonds, relief plain on his face. "Now, tell me, this Rebellion: all the ones taken were soulmates in some form or fashion, yes?"

A nod. "Good. And do you know if they would make a rescue attempt?"

Another nod. "Kirk would, at least--he and that Vulcan were attached at the hip, long as I knew 'em." Jealousy--most likely he wanted Kirk. Mitchell has had a disdain for all things different, and was always quick to ridicule. _Will_. Two strikes against him.

Giving up information that could save Will so easily to someone who--as far as he knew--was an enemy, was the third.

Mitchell continued. "Rogers and Stark have been bonded as long as Stark's been a part of this get-up, so Rogers will be there if any rescue attempt's being had."

Hannibal nodded, getting to his feet and making for the door. "Hey!" Mitchell shouted after him. "You can't just be planning to leave me here!"

Hannibal looked back at Mitchell, taking in the picture he made--the man was actually still hoping to get out of here alive. Hannibal pressed a set of buttons on the wall beside the door, making two metal joints come out of the wall, connecting over Mitchell's neck, then starting to compress. "Oh, yes I can," Hannibal said, walking out as Mitchell started shouted for help, his struggling beginning anew. The door slid shut with an ominous  _clang_.

He walked to a panel set on the outside of the room, setting the temperature inside where Mitchell was currently being strangled back to the recommended cold for storing one's meat. He would return within two hours to collect what he needed, but for now--he had two alphas to find.

 

Rose groaned, struggling to stay alseep. It had been a great dream, with a face to go with the name  _Doctor_...

A much louder groan yanked her fully into the land of the living, and she snapped up. She was laying on the floor--comfortable, plush, but still a floor--and beside her was the scruffy sprawl of a man with a mop of dark curls on his head, prison uniform torn at the knees, that had made the noise. In front of them was another dark haired man, thin-faced boy really, with thick glasses, and a girl with auburn hair pulled back into a painful looking bun. Both were wearing some form of Rebellion uniform, like her, the insignia embossed in silver on their hips. Both were out cold. She tried to remember if they were crew members on her shuttle, but came up blank. In fact, most of the memory space where Project Hercules being put into action was blank, only the beginning of a battle...then, nothing. A niggling spear of worry start working her way into her heart. What had happened to the others?

She barely managed not to scream when someone tapped her shoulder. She looked over at the scruffy man. He held a finger to his lips, lifted a curious eyebrow, and nodded to the other side of the room. Only then did Rose notice the last two people in the room--a Vulcan in a Rebellion blackout uniform, facing away from her, and Project Hercules co-creator Tony Stark. Whether Tony Stark himself being captured here with them was good or bad remained to be seen. She looked back over at the scruffy man, and shrugged. Stark was waving at the air around them, murmering quietly, and holding his hands out in a clear 'don't blame  _me_ ' gesture. The Vulcan was calm, though a green flush of blood was spreading across the back of his pale neck.

The scruffy man nudged her again. She raised her eyebrows at him. He made a motion with his hands by his waist, partially hidden from anyone not standing right over them by his splayed legs. Talking, hand puppet style; palms flat, slithering  minutely across the floor, then fists; a thumbs up, coupled with a raise of one eyebrow.  _'Ask them for information, then back me up if they turn hostile?'_  It confirmed her suspicions--he wasn't apart of the Rebellion. She didn' think a Vulcan had it in him to be obviously  _hostile_ , and Tony Stark would never hurt one of his, but she nodded anyway.

"Hey!" he shouted to the Vulcan and Stark. They immediately stopped arguing with each other, and turned as one to face the others. Rose held back a gasp--Commander Spock, the First Officer of the ship that her shuttle had belonged to.

Stark grinned at them, while Commander Spock, unsurprisingly, remained stoic. "Great, Ensign Tyler, New Guy, you up! We're gonna need all the brainpower we can get to get out of this."

"Uh-huh, great, but what is this, exactly?" Scruffy Man asked. "Why were we taken? I haven't pissed off anybody Romulan or Chitauri in a while."

Stark eyebrows had hiked up to his hairline, and even Commander Spock' s right one had lifted just a touch. "You're not a part of the Rebellion?"

"What? No! My name's Will Graham," he shook his head vehemently. "Set to get out of prison in a month, put in only for punching some Romulans--deserved it though, treating kids like that."

Commander Spock and Stark shared a look. "Have you met your soulmate?" Stark asked tentatively.

"No!" Will's shout seemed enough to wake the other occupants of the room, the girl and boy snapping into a sitting position. "I've never had a soulmate, probably never will, with how my mind is, now could you  _please_ tell me what the hell we're doing here?" 

"I expect it has something to do with the message they sent out," the thin faced man interrupted. 

"Message?" questioned the Commander. 

The girl with a bun nodded. "British Isles trains us to resist certain poisons. It's why it took us--probably--longer than you to get up. We also were awake to hear the message sent out."

The boy finished for her. "Six omegas, six of you're weakest, will be chosen. They will be killed on public television in a week's time."

 

"It'll work!"

"It has only a thirty-five percent chance--!"

"Captain Kirk--"

"--do something so blatantly--"

"--illogocal and inarguably human--"

"Kroykah!"

Steve could admit, in his own head, that Commander Spock's dad cut a pretty impressive figure. He'd assumed Ambassador Sarek would, like his son, be predisposed to staying silent and unobtrusive unless absolutely necessary. He thought he was  just a little off the mark as he watched  Sarek rise to his full height, towering over the rest of the Vulcan Council, who remained seated but shut up.

"Kirk," he turned to the youngest human in the room, voice carrying despite its softness. "You are my son-by-bond, but what you suggest is madness, no matter the... _attachment_ we may have to them. Going in to enemy territory with but a small ship, to retrieve less than ten personnel?"

"I'm not asking for approval for this," Kirk began. "We're going on this trip whether you want us to or not; we just need to know the Rebellion--all parts of it--will at least not file us as vigilantes or turncoats if we do. Me and Rogers already agreed to this." Steve remembered agreeing to no such thing, but nodded when some of the council turned to look his way.

Sarek gave Kirk a calculating look, then sighed, bowing his head in defeat. "You are a brash young alpha, but very well." Immediately, the protests began again, but Sarek held up hos hand for silence. "You shall have the USS Adventure. It has not been catalogued by out enemies as ours, and it only requires a handful of people to guide it. The ship will be readied in an hour, and after that, you must find a crew who is willing to go on a veritable suicide mission. Meet me at Lookout Post D when the time comes to collect your ship, but for now: Dismissed!"

Kirk made for the back doors, and Steve made a beeline for him.

"You do realize I never agreed to do this if they didn't agree, right?" he asked. That he would have, regardless, went unspoken.

"That, my good captain, is what I call bluffing," the younger man grinned cheekily. "Now, all we need to do is find about three or four other people for this. Bones would refuse to go back into space, point-blank, unless he was the very last option, so he's out. Uhura could be perfect, if not for the fact that she's gone on an underground mission in Chile. We could--"

"The other alphas," Steve said suddenly, a metaphorical lightbulb flickering on over his head.

"Wait, huh?" Kirk glanced back at Steve, head cocked.

"Sarek said we only needed a handful of people--with the other alphas, we have six. That's perfect! They'd be willing to do what we're doing because we've got the same drive: the enemies took our soulmates!"

Kirk nodded slowly. "That would work--c'mon!" He changed direction, head ing to the computer room instead of outside. 

"Where are you going?" Steve yelled, chasing after him.

"The Database! We have alphas to find!"

 

A particularly strong blast of wind did nothing to shake Irene from where she was leaning against the remains of Buckingham Palace. In one hand was the crumpled remains of her lunch, and in the other, a backpack fully stocked with a week's worth of ammo and supplies.

The gust of wind was back, coming from in front of her this time. A humming filled the air as before her, a ship barely bigger than a shuttle materialized in front of her, USS Adventure emblazoned on its side.

She walked up to it as the side panel entrance began lowering, medieval moat style, catching it with the toe of her boot when it was low enough and lifting herself inside. She strutted confidently through a new set of doors, coming on to the bridge.

"I expected you sooner, captains, with you track records," she said to the two gaping men. "I trust you've already figured out that t you can track the missing through Kirk' s bond, or were you flying by the seat of you pants, as both of you are wont to do?"

Behind her, she heard the door open again. She turned. Agent Bond stood in  the doorway. He nodded. "Miss Adler."

"James, dear, thank you for joining us," she smiled turning back to  the two captains. "Shall we, gentlemen?"

 

On the other side of London, a man sat on the doorstop doorstop his shop, curled in on himself as he struggled not to cry. The shop, a simple thing proclaiming to sell the best handmade clocks--everything from modern to before 21st century tech-- this side of the Thieve' s Astroid Belt, had a 'CLOSED' sign hanging in one of the windows. 

The man, whom people not involved with the darker side of the war only knew as Doctor,  was trying to wait out a splitting hangover headache. When the names of the omegas who'd been taken, he'd thought their must have been a mistake. He hadn't been directly involved in the war since the dark days, his shop a place for anyone who need a place to get away, regardless of if you wanted a clock fixed or not. And still, the name Rose Tyler flashed bright in the night sky. 

To add sickening clarity, each omega' involvement had been flashed beside there name. Rose had been-- _is! IS!_ \--a foot soldier. That meant she would have been in the thick of it yesterday, a perfect target for them to take.

_How silly of me, to think that just because I'd stopped fighting I would stop being hurt by the war. Fate hates me too much to let me be._

As if in response to his thoughts, a gust of wind nearly blew him over. His eyes widened as a ship materialized, bigger than his own shop, in the middle of the street. He then caped open as out climbed no less than four members of the Rebellion, all in blackout suits, two easily recognizable. 

"Captain Rogers! Captain Kirk!" he scrambled to his feet. If they'd come to offer condolences or some such, the least he could do was greet them properly, even if he would much rather be left alone. Rose was going to be killed in a week's time, and he'd never even kissed her, never even let her  _see_ him. 

"Hi," said Rogers, cheerful for a man whose bondmate had been among the taken. Come to think of it, Kirk's had, too... "I'm guessing you are..." He looked to the two unknowns for help.

"The Doctor," the woman said helpfully. He nodded weakly, an impossible theory weaving itself together in his head. "Excellent. So, we've come to ask--"

"Yes," he grasped. They all looked surprised, except for the last man, who was looking at him with something like approval. "You've come to ask if I'd help with a rescue mission, it's the only possible explanation, and the answer is  _yes_." 

Captain Kirk grinned. "Well that was easier than I thought it would be."

"Probably the easiest part of this insane plan," the still unnamed man grumbled. "C'mon."

"Wait," the Doctor said suddenly, pointing back at his shop. "Let me just--" They nodded, and he raced back inside. As if she were a mind reader, TARDIS, his robotic perfect brilliant shop assistant, was holding out a hastily stuffed-to-the-brim stuffed-to-the-brim backpack. His sonic screwdriver stuck out of one pocket.

He grabbed her by her pointy metallic shoulders, yanking her in for a kiss before snatching the bag. "Oh, you brilliant, sexy thing, thank you. You remember what I taught you about keeping up shop?" An affirmative beep. "Marvelous! Oh this is probably a terrible idea, getting re-involved re-involved with the Rebellion." More beeps, accompanied by TARDIS pushing him right out the door. He laughed as she slammed the door in his face, and sprinted to the ship.

Surprisingly, the unnamed man was still waiting for him. He held a hand that the Doctor took, shaking firmly. "You probably don't remember me, but my name is James Bond."

"Oh, Jamie," the Doctor gasped in recognition, shaking Bond's hand more vigorously. "The little strip of an intern that had to hold me down while you were rearranging my innards." That was putting it mildly; they'd had to stop cells that were put there to make him stronger, to help him live, from cannibalizing what was left of him.

"Not an intern anymore, as you can see, Mr--"

"Doctor," he said hastily. "Just go by Doctor now. Don't tell me they took your bondmate too? I thought you were going into Intel?"

Surprisingly, Bond shook his head. "The Romulans have to be confused. I lost the ability to tell who my bondmate is a long time ago. Torture." He said when he saw the Doctor's confused expression. "Q and I...though he's brilliant, and is everything I could possibly--we're just friends. My closest friend, that I happened to sleep with a while back, but just friends. I just wish he didn't have to be involved with this. He's just a kid, compared to the rest of us."

They stepped on to the bridge, and into a heated argument.

"--the hell do you mean you can't find his bondmate?" the woman snarled. "Will Graham must have one! He's not in any way involved in the Rebellion, and he's barely listed in the Romulan databases!"

"He doesn't have anyone!" Rogers shouted back. back The Doctor frowned, peering at the front panel. Someone was was walking very determinedly towards this ship.

"Um, excuse me." He went ignored.

"Both Rogers and I have checked and recycled--this man has no one!" The figure moved closer, his image coming into focus as a man: tall, sturdily built--and with a jacket proclaiming to anyone who cared to look that he was a prison warden for the enemy.

Opting not to even try to make himself heard, he nudged Bond hard, pointing at the figure. Bond eyes widened, before his face hardened into the mask of a soldier. "Adler! Rogers! Kirk!" They all quieted instantly. Before  he could say anything else, two firm knocks on the hull eng out. Their eyes snapped to the screen, and Kirk paled.

"Shit." He walked over to the other side of the bridge, grabbing a phaser and setting it to kill. "That's the East USA prison warden--he's the cannibalistic monster that they threatened to unleash on us a while back, Rogers, remember?"

Rogers scowled, but Adler held up a hand. "Wait."

"Why?" Kirk demanded. "What could he possibly want other than to kill us and eat us with a nice side salad?"

"He's the man I got the codes from," Adler said. The Doctor had no idea what codes she was talking about, but it was enough to get Kirk to stop. "He wants to help."

Kirk sighed, grumbling about how that was even less of a reason to trust him but when to sit in the Captain's chair without a fight. "This is Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Adventure, state you make and your purpose for seeking out this ship."

The warden smiled. "I am Dr. Hannibal Lecter, and am I correct in thinking this is the ship that will be attempting the rescue mission."

"Yes," Kirk bit out. "Purpose?"

"To join the rescue mission of course." Kirk scoffed, but Dr. Lecter openly chuckled. "I know you don't believe me. I am, however, telling the truth. I take it you're having trouble locating good Will's soulmate?"

Kirk stared at the warden taking in his uniform and the large metal briefcase he had with him. "Bullshit."


	4. Chapter Three: The Captors and The Bonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have no idea how to even begin to go about writing one of Will's dreams. Or, you know, Will in general. Your welcome.

_Knives._

_Blue knives._

_Wait--not knives, something_

_like guns, phasers_

_Their arms were like branches woven together_

_Veins in the human body_

_twisting around_

_meeting at_

_the backs of their torso--scarred?_

_no, twisted, but meant to be like that, a connection_

_connection to what?_

_faster,_

_connected_

_how_

_connected_

_cut off from the mothership_

_connected_

_stark thinks it's a transmitter embedded_

_connected_

_Project Hercules_

_connected_

_blackout day_

_connected_

_how how--_

"Graham!"

Will's eyes snapped open as he gasped in a lungful of air, panting and sweating like he'd run the prison's suicide marathon. He was sprawled across the gorund like he'd just falled, the other five prisoners were standing over him, the girl pulling a shit-looking flashlight away from his eyes. "It was in the first-aid kit," she said by way of explanation when she saw him looking. The Vulcan helped him up as the others got to their feet.

"So I guess this wasn't a dream," he said weakly.

"Nope," a man with a ridiculous beard said brightly. "You're stuck with us until they kill us or we escape."

He sighed. "Yeah, great. Who are all of you, again?"

The Vulcan held up his people's traditional hand greeting, and Will copied as best he could. "I am Spock, Commander and First Officer under Captain Kirk in the Rebellion. This is the East USA Rebellion co-leader, Commander Anthony Stark; Special Agent for the British Isles Rebellion, Q; Medical Officer for the British Isles Rebellion, Molly Hooper; and Ensign of the British Isles Rebellion, Rose Tyler."

Will couldn't help gaping at him. "No offense, but I've been trying to keep my head down and out of sight when it comes to the Empire, so how did I get mixed up with Rebellion prisoners?"

"We got nothing," Commander Stark promptly informed him, looking at a some ancient looking technology that had teh first aid symbol on the side. "We've been trying to figure that out--along with tryign to get out. You drifted off again, and started screaming and sleepwalking about a minute ago." He added the last before going back to whatever he was doing.

"Any ideas, then?" he asked.

"None so far," Hooper said, helping him to hhis feet. The cell, now that Will had time to take it in, was relatively comfortable. It had bunk beds attached to the wall, two horizontal lines of thee, and a glass case that displayed first aid and a supply of supressants that looked straight from the twenty-first century. Cans of food were stuffed onto the bottom shelf, a supply he assumed would last them a week. Right above that shelf was one filled with baggy black prison jumpers, for when they would inevitably need to change. They even had a couple desks with three chairs each, with actual books and paper and a fucking quill and ink set. The desks and chairs had been pushed around so they made a table with the chairs surrounding, and everyone but him and Hooper had moved to sit there.

"We tried to open up Spock's mental link with Kirk," Q said as they sat down. "But Spock's on some kind of suppressant that interferes with his telepathy, and can't open it without Kirk's help. For obvious reasons, we can't just call him and ask him to help."

"As far as we can figure," Tyler added, taking off a wierd looking watch and placing it in the middle of the table, "It's been about a day since we were taken, giving us six days to get out or be killed trying."

"Morbid," Stark muttered.

"But accurate," Q told him.

"We also need to figure out these Chitauri," Stark began. "Romulans we have a lock on, if only because they're Vulcans' cousins a couple millenia back. Chitauri, though, are a complete mystery. The comms we figured they had on them, and we'd supposedly figured out how to neutralize? In the beginning of the strike I got a good look at a body we'd managed to take down--no comm. The neutralization worked, but no comm or any kind. We know they can communicate without our stuff, but there was nothing. We got no trace of any signal coming in or out, not even to check on their fallen buddy. It was almost like--"

"Because there isn't," Will interrupted, his dream coming back to him. "A connection, there isn't a connection. At least, not how your seeing it."

"But there has to be," Hooper insisted. "They only had East USA's Hawkeye for a couplpe hours before he managed to pull one over on them, and we attacked almost immediately after. There had to be some connection."

"There is," Will whispered, his mind going a mile a minute. "Your dead, they shaped there attack aound knowing he was down, but no transmission, right? Chitauri are huge, and--and alien, like Vulcans and Romulans. Vulcans! To get the messge out that quickly, they would have needed a pretty strong connection. Chitauri are really dumb, though. On their own, on anything that needs more than brute strength, they're pitiful. They can move though; I've seen footage, they're almost eerie in how well they move together."

"Are you saying they're mentally connected to each other?" Hooper asked, aghast. Stark and Spock looked vaguely interested (as interested as a Vulcan can look anyways), and Q looked vaguely ill.

"Yes--No! They...they're one mind. A hive mind. The Chitauri we see are only extensions of one mind."

"Well, that's disturbing," Q quipped. It was surprisingly steady, with how green he looked. 

"As fun as this all is," Stark said slowly, making sure the wisp of an agent wasn't actually about to throw up. "We still need a way to get in contact with everyone, or at least our mates."

Hooper frowned. "Mister Spock," she said tentatively.

"Yes, Miss Hooper," Spock turned to her.

"Your bond...could you, maybe send a burst of thought or emotion? Like a beacon? I know there's a chance Kirk won't get it, but--maybe?"

Spock stared at her. "Your statement is both obvious and above average intelligence." From the way Hooper smiled, Will guessed he'd said that as a compliment. "Everyone quiet; I will need peace and silence for this to work. I need to meditate."

 

The bridge was dead silent. There was an unspoken tension in the air, expected of people new to the job, Kirk supposed, but it was escpecially thick between Lecter and the Doctor. Kirk didn't know what it was, but from the second they'd gotten settled, the Doctor had hated being around the warden, and Lecter had loved goading him. Kirk rubbed his head, a headache starting to form. The shiny shell of a "neutral" outpost gleamed before them, within ten minute's flight. Neutral, meaning it wasn't technically held by the Chitauri, or their extensions, the Romulans, but that in no way made it safe for the unsuspecting traveler.

His head throbbed again, and he turned to Agent Adler, at the communications station. They could stop at the outpost for that night, and be gone before anyone realized they were their in the morning. "Adler, any sign of transmissions in the area?" he asked, roughly rubbing his hand through his hair as his head throbbed again.

"No, sir," she said, the sir prefessional for an alpha and a known dominatrix. "We--" He didn't hear the rest, sliding out of his chair with a groan as a huge wave of emotions wracked over him.  _FearWantDeterminationJimAnxiousnessJimJimJIM!_

 _  
_"Spock!" he gasped, grasping at the thread of emotions. Vaguely, he could hear shouting on his end, and he struggled to get back up, as much as he wanted to drown in the fact that he could _feel_ Spock again--he'd known he was alive from the bond, but it was so good to feel him again. But, he was fading.  _Not today_ , he thought, chasing the thread and  _pulling_ it back to him. Suddenly, Spock flooded his head, debelief and warm relief on both sides.  _Jim, t'hy'la, mine--_

_\--Spock, thank god your okay, how's everyone, are you hurt--_

"Kirk!" He was roughly pulled out of his head by a rough shake form hands wrapped around his shoulders. Swimming back into reality, he saw Roger's face first, concerned blue eyes trained on his. 

"Spock!" he gasped, scrambling to his feet. "I can feel him--I can feel him!"

"I thought you could already feel him, considering we've been using your bond as a navigation device," Dr. Lecter said suspiciously.

"Yeah," Kirk answered breathlessly, feeling too high off the bond to bristle at the undertone of accusation in Lecter's tone. "But not like this. He was on suppressants or something and I couldn't--but he's here now, _Spock_!" Together in his head, they curled around each other, both over paranoid and making sure the other hadn't been hurt in the short time they'd been seperated.

"Can he talk to the others?" Bond demanded sharply.

"How's Molly?" came quickly on the heels of Bond's words from Adler.

"Rose?" the Doctor asked, and Rogers simply pleaded  with his eyes. Lecter was conspicuously silent.

Spock sent out memories from earlier, of them around a table, plotting an escape.  _Good, good, so smart, i love you so much, Spock._ "They're all fine," Kirk said, engrossed in his own head but holding himself steady against Rogers. "Spock's getting them up now so you can all send messages, but there were no serious injuries, and they all got to planning an escape right away."

"Oh, good girl, Molly," Adler gasped, eyes bright. The Doctor had a wide grin on his face, and Rogers nearly strangled him in a bone-crushing hug. Bond's lips were twitching in a smile, and even Lecter's face had softened. 

Kirk grinned even wider, burrowing into Spock so he could share the messages almost instantaneously, as the others woke up and swarmed Spock when they realized what was going on. "Ok, ok, Bond: Q says you have no right to hold this over his head when they get out of this, and that it's too quiet without your pacing."

This startled a laugh out of Bond, and he outright grinned. "After he held '53 over me? Not likely."

Kirk's eyes flickered, focusing on the message. "Rogers, Stark says that he loves you, and misses you, and that he should have been there on the bridge with you instead of in engineering."

Rogers gasped, holding back either a sob or a laugh. "Tony, it's fine, it's fine--and I love you too, so much."

"Doctor," The Doctor gasped at this, almost nervous. "Rose says that she loves you too, and that you owe her a date, face-to-face, after this is all through."

The Doctor gasped, tears leaking out of his eyes. "Of course, anything!"

"Adler, Molly says that she loves you even more than the others love their mates, and that she would have said yes."

Irene giggled, sobbing outright now, and grinning through the tears. "Oh, it's going to be beautiful, sweetheart, when we get you out of there."

Kirk turned to Lecter, focusing on the somber doctor. "Dr. Lecter? Anything to add?"

They shared a look, and Kirk swore the warden almost seemed human in that moment. It passed, though, and Lecter was back to his cold and calculating self. "Tell him that I dearly regret getting him involved in this, and to stay safe until we get there."

Kirk nodded, serious now that he was looking at Lecter. "Will do."

On the other side of the Empire, in an opulent cell on a prison ship, a prisoner with one month left on his sentence sighed in disappointment.


	5. Chapter Four: Will, Spock, and the Berserker Program

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am enjoying writing my Hannibal way too much to be healthy.

Unfortunately, Spock couldn't maintain the link indefinitely, and had to sever it or pass out from the sheer exhaustion of working the link through whatever the Chitauri had done to him. After Molly had guided (read: forced) him into one of the beds, the cell had become a hive of activity. Molly and Q had gone on to sorting through the limited medical supplies to see what could be turned into a weapon or nullify Spock's suppressant, Rose convincing Will to help her do the same with the personal supplies and what Tony hadn't taken over. The illustrous Commander Stark had taken over both desks, chairs pushed roughly to the side, black ink staining his fingertips as he drew out plan after plan, each more far-fetched than the last.

Rose looked up from refolding a set of clothes, possibly sharper than she should have (the toothbrushes didn't even have _bristles_ , for fuck's sake! Just some weird sponge thing obviously meant to be able to cause the least amount of damage), she happened to glance over at Will.

Did a double take.

Frowned.

"Are you alright?" She asked, shaking him out of the trance state he'd been in. He'd been nothing but helpful, but if he was prone to the fits he had earlier, her and Molly really should switch helpers. She was much better equipped to deal with it than she was. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, snapping up. "I'll j-just--" He scrambled for the clothes set he'd been working on, trying to look like he hadn't been completely out of it, sitting on the middle bottom bed, across from Spock.

Rose frowned some more, then walked over to him to take the set from his hands. "Is this about the conversation earlier?" There was no need to say which one--there was only one that could've had this affect on him. He nodded wordlessly,  and she sat down. 

"It's stupid, isn't it," he mumbled, picking at the thread of his prison uniform. "Wanting him to say something different--at least to tell me who he is, besides letting Kirk say his name was Hannibal."

"Of course it's not stupid!" Rose protested. "Soulmates want to know about each other."

Will scoffed. "Soulmates. Souls knowing each other like that--it's just foundation! The rest you have to build yourself, and even then it might fall through. Hannibal, he probably hates that he got stuck with a convict, and is just doing this out of pity."

Before Rose could respond, Molly, who had wandered over with Q when they saw the other two stop, spoke up. "That's not the only reason he'd hold back while doing this." Will looked at her, surprised by her speaking up, an  she continued. "Irene' s convicted of a lot of things, both with the Rebellion and the enemy. When I first saw her, I waited until I wouldn't be in the crossover of anything, and then just because I had no idea if she'd even like me.

"Like you said," she grinned, seeing his look of surprise dissolve into one of complete shock. "Soulmates doesn't guarantee everything, and I was a timid pencil pusher. Still am in fact. Didn't stop Irene from wanting her collar on me." Q flushed at her frankness about Irene's predilections in the bedroom, but Will looked like he was clinging to the information like a lifeline.

"If your open to another story, then mine should help," Rose offered. Will looked around at her, nodding wordlessly with wide eyes. "I haven't known the Doctor for more than a month. He's also never let me see more then a picture of him. I only got what I know from his robot shop assistant, TARDIS, and only managed to hear his voice regularly when I signed on the help in the clock shop."

"And you put up with that?" Q demanded, taking the words right out of Will's mouth.

Rose shrugged. "To be honest, I was at the end of my rope, before Project Hercules. Had a plan worked out with the TARDIS and everything. He's convinced he's some kind of monster, and all I got out of him about it was that he was in the early parts of the war."

"Well my story's not as noble as yours," Q sighed. "Definitely no happy ending in sight." He paused, thinking, then sighed again. "I'd read Bond's file. Everyone had read his file--the man is a legend. Right at the bottom, though, was the problem: he'd long lost the ability to sense his soulmate. I didn't think it would matter, before he came it for a new phaser and I nearly fell on my ass, the preconnection was so strong. He thought I was the most annoying thing since 21st century pop music. We only just became friends, ans we've been fuckbuddies for only three weeks." Molly gasped, and looked like she was forcing herself not to tackle him with a hug. Will honestly just was uncomfortable with the fact of how relieved he felt, that his wasn't one of a completely lost cause.

"Well I have nothing to add to this angst fest," Tony Stark said dramatically, causing more than one person to jump as they hadn't heard him leave the desks. "But I can say this-- you're right about souls being just the foundation. Despite everyone and their grandmother toting our bonding around as the prime example, me and Steve, we're not perfect. There aren't enough fingers in this room to count off the number of times we've disagreed, the number of times we outright fought. We hated each other when we first met, barely respected each other--it was a complete disaster."

"What changed?" Will asked, reluctantly enthralled in everyone's story.

Tony grinned sardonically. "I went into heat." There was an intake of breath to his side, but Will didn't check to see who it was. "We were in an abandoned outpost--help was days away. But despite the fact that because of things done to him for the war, things to exaggerate any and all alpha qualities, he didn't attack.

"We'd known we were soulmates of course. Part of the reason we hated each other so much was because fate had decided to throw two people who grated on each other's nerves so much together. After that, though..." He looked away, flushing a deep red as he smiled, fondly remembering something.

"I apologize for interrupting." Everyone jumped a second time when they heard Spock join the conversation, Molly hissing ' _You're supposed to be asleep_ ,' which was promptly ignored. "But it would likely help if Mr. Graham in knew the entirety of his circumstance."

Will eyed him, but nodded for the half-Vulcan to continue. "The prison you were at, East USA, did you ever see the Warden?" 

"No," Will answered slowly. " But we also heard stories about him, and the guards threatened to unleash him on us if we misbehaved. Warden Lecter was a cannibal."

"But it is very likely that he saw you?" Spock pressed his original point, whatever that was.

"Probably. I mean, pictures of new prisoners go across his desk every day, so I doubt he'd remember me."

Spock nodded, as if this confirmed something for him while Will we  still in the dark. "Then it it is likely that he was acting in what he thought was your best interests, now allowing you to decide if you wanted to talk again. His full name, as much as Jim tried to keep it from me, is Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

It took a full minute for it to sink in, during which the others were looking at him as if he would explode. Dr. Lecter, the most fearsome warden this side of the Thieve's Asteroid Belt. Everyone had heard of him in some capacity--he was the favored threat of the Romulans and Chitauri, because of "his...unique nature." A rather kind way of saying they'd made a monster that ate (what had been, before he'd been subjected to whatever they'd done to him) his own people. It's not as if something like this was unexpected; what regular person would want Will after seeing inside his head? But still...

"Can I see him?" It sounded vain even to his own ears, but if they'd left in a hurry, then Hannibal would still be in his uniform, and he just had to be  _sure_.

Spock nodded, holding out his hand. Will got up and went over to him, so he could still  lie down.

He touched his temple with three of his fingers gently, holding back strength even though he should be the one weak in bed. "My mind to your mind..."

_My thoughts to your thoughts..._

_Will wasn't entirely sure what happened, but judging from the shock in Spock's mind, it was definitely not supposed to happen like this._

_He caught the briefest glimpse of Hannibal, tall and broad shouldered with an air of cold control--_

_Before he was hurtling towards a wall that should not have been there, but on the other side was_ JimMineT'hyl'a _, and they were--_

_Crack!_

_Hurtling through it, spinning around and out of control through space--_

_Something dark and vile anchored them, a huge consciousness far away from them, humming with energy, but weaker than it once had been--_

_A quivering Romulan stood in front of it, kneeling. "They're on their way, I swear, master, but you can't rush these things!"_

_The consciousness lashed out with a mental strike that the Romulan's shield did nothing against, sending him to the floor with an anguished cry._

_"If it had not been for your foolishness I wouldn't be in this state!" It roared, though Will was hard pressed to figure out where the voice was coming from, considering that the consciousness seemed to be nothing more than a disgusting jiggling black mass._

_"The Berserker Program was a mistake, a failure! We were too brash, and caused you harm, something we swore not to do! We will not fail you," the Romulan whimpered._

_"You will not," the consciousness agreed, and Will saw a bit of black mass inching along behind the Romulan that he hadn't seen before, and the Romulan screamed when it touched him--_

Spock wrenched them apart, yanking them back into their bodies. They looked at each other, panting hard, Spock looking more than a little frightened.

Will, of course, said the only thing that could come to mind. "Woah."

 

On the USS Adventure, however, nothing of note had happened, other than them changing course according to whatever vague direction Kirk felt the bond go in. Finally, he sat up in the Captain's chair, cursing and rubbing his head. "Y'know what? Let's go on autopilot for a bit; whatever ship's carrying them, it's just circling. Rogers, you have firsts watch." He got up, marching off the bridge.

Irene clapped her hand against Rogers' shoulder, then quickly followed him out. Bond did the same, and the Doctor hurried out after a mumbled goodbye to the bridge at large. Hannibal nodded at Rogers, and he at him, before leaving right behind the Doctor.

He barely managed to catch a ride on the turbolift with the Doctor, having to physically catch the door to get on. The Doctor eyed him warily, and Hannibal catalogued that along with everything else he'd witnessed about the other man. The other man he suspected had more in common with him than he initially thought.

"Would you mind having dinner with me?" he asked asked the other man, watching him for--there! His reaction of disgust was delayed. Alone it meant nothing, but with the other observations he had...

"You'll forgive me if I decline," the Doctor said dryly, eyeing him from the corner of his eye.

Hannibal chuckled, turning his body to face the Doctor and taking his hand from behind his back. They were immediately placed in his pockets, but the Doctor relaxed, a tiny movement that Hannibal would have surely missed had he not been looking for it. "Don't worry," he said. "I will not make you partake in my...diet. I believe my rooms is one of the ones with a replicator, so your meal shall come from that."

This caused the Doctor to tense even more, for reasons nearly inexplicable.  _No reason to refuse_ , Hannibal thought, watching the Doctor struggle with himself.

"I only with to talk," he said softly. That, more than anything else seemed to mold the Doctor's desicion.

"Yes, of course," he agreed, a grin on his face that was way too forced. "See you in an hour."

Hannibal smiled, a shark within striking distance of prey. "Of course."

He spent the hour making his food, setting the replicator working almost as an afterthought. Deliberately, he didn't recycle the air in his quarters, the enticing scent of steak hanging in the air. The comm chirped, presicely on time.

"Open," he said clearly, setting the trays on the table precisely as the Doctor walked through the door. Heavy-handed, perhaps, but effective as he watched the barely there stumble in his steps. After they'd said hello, along with other pleasantries, the sat down and began on there respective meals.

The Doctor lasted all of five minutes before breaking. "You wanted to talk, Dr. Lecter?" he asked, looking up from his meal, a vegetarian affair that had him reluctantly eyeing the steak despite knowing what it was made of.

Hannibal pretended to misinterpret the look of hunger, and pointed to the already half demolished steak. "Would it help, knowing he was a Rebellion traitor?" he asked, innocent, for him. "And you don't think I just want to get to know my colleagues? You're all Rebellion heroes, and hold a distinct advantage knowing each other as well as you do."

The Doctor's eyes snapped up to meet his, suspicion in every line of his body. "Well, I don't know any of them, per say, other than Jamie, but he was an intern back when--back when I was getting my start as a clock maker."

"Still, you participate in some way, surely, or they would have left you alone," he prodded. The Doctor was tensing, his body instinctively preparing for a fight even as the Doctor fought the reaction.

"You know as well as I that the choosing was random," he all but snarled. "And I do not participate in the war." Do not, not did not. The Doctor caught the slip the same time Hannibal smirked.  _Gotcha_.

"You're sure, Berserker?" Hannibal asked idly, not flinching when the Doctor shot to his feet, slamming his hands on the table. 

"You have no idea what you implying." He was openly snarling, barely holding his instincts in check. Apparently calmly, not giving in to the blood singing with the approach of a fight, an actual challenge, he rolled up his sleeve to above his elbow. The black veins were faded, now that he'd had a meal,  it undeniably there. The Doctor went a death pale, pulling out in contrast the black veins that started at the bottom of his neck. 

"Oh I think I do," he said, rolling his sleeve back into place. "Your the very first test for a Berserker. Failed course, but still deadly, and very useful to--"

"Shut up," the Doctor snapped, his voice a raspy whisper. "Don't you dare."

"Don't you think Captain Kirk, at least should know--"

"Shut up!" the other man roared, fingers digging deep wells in the steel table. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.

"They need to know what they have allowed on their ship," Hannibal said finally. 

"What's on this ship is four humans, a perfectly harmless Doctor, and an apparently psychopathic Berserker," the Doctor snapped. "If you'll excuse me, Dr. Lecter." 

Without waiting for a reply, he stormed out the rooms, leaving Hannibal alone to finish his meal. He took a bite, then eyed the unfinished plate of vegetable lasagna on the other side of the table. "How rude."


	6. Chapter Five: Mudd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait! My wi-fi's been going in and out for a while now, so I haven't been able to get this up as quickly as I wanted to.  
> And for anyone not in the Star Trek fandom, this is Tarsus IV: http://en.memory-alpha.org/wiki/Tarsus_IV  
> And this is what happened: http://memory-beta.wikia.com/wiki/Tarsus_IV_Massacre

“Adler, can I talk to you?”

Irene looked up, taking in the tense line of Kirk’s shoulders and his wide eyes, and nodded.

“’Kay—Steve, you have the con,” Kirk muttered, quickly striding out of the room. Irene followed silently, frowning as Kirk only got tenser away from the others. They walked until they reached an expanse of pure glass, looking out into the stars. Irene knew she should be able to recall the name, but she hadn’t been on a starship since she’d first met Kirk.

_“Are you sure Kodos didn’t keep any more kids down here?”_

_“Of course—I’m his favorite, he tells me everything. The Executioner doesn’t keep things that consume unnecessary resources; he’s very thorough.”_

“What is it, Kirk?” she asked, when he just stared out at space.

“The connection’s failing,” he mumbled, still not looking at her.

“What?” she demanded sharply, jerking to attention and going to stand beside him.

“My connection with Spock, at least the feature that allows me to sense where he is, is failing,” he said louder. “I don’t think it was meant to be used as long as I’ve been using it, and I’m going for longer and longer without being able to find him. The last bout, just before I called you in here, lasted for a full two minutes.”

“And when _exactly_ were you going to share this lovely bit of information with the class?” She thought of Molly, sweet Molly, being killed on intergalactic television. _Irene, the ships need as many doctors as they can get. I specialize in dead aliens, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be a help to M’Benga, or whoever I get paired with. They need me._

‘They need me.’ What pretty lies.

“I just did,” Kirk snapped, dragging Irene back to the present. “And I need help.”

“We’ve not talked outside of a mission since we were on Tarsus IV together, and even then, only rarely. Why me? Why not Rogers?”

“Because I made this sound like a definite plan when I told him about this part of mine and Spock’s bond, and I don’t need him collapsing on me.” Irene refrained from mentioning that he looked much more likely to collapse than Rogers probably would if told this. Kirk didn’t want his command questioned. Like most alphas, she conceded.

“I hate to say it, Kirk,” Irene began. “But if our end drops, the only chance of us finding them is if they send out a signal themselves.”

“So you think telling them they’re fucked is a good idea?” he demanded. “Just sitting here and waiting for the people _captured_ to find a way to rescue themselves while we sit here with our thumbs up our asses like—” He cut himself off, looking at the glass like he wanted to blast a hole in it. Irene personally was glad he didn’t.

“Not rescue themselves,” though Irene saw nothing wrong with the image of Molly commandeering one of their captor’s ships and making her way home glowing with victory. “But finding away to connect with us that doesn’t run the risk of leaving us _floundering_.”

Kirk glared at her, then his shoulders slumped, him visibly conceding. “Alright, fine. Let’s tell them.”

 

“But there’s nothing here!” Commander Stark protested, his feet up in the table.

“Weren’t you the one to build your reactor out of scraps?” Will asked.

“But that was with _good_ scraps! Not 21 st century crap!”

“And plus,” Rose added. “We don’t even have the week that he started with.” Stark waved his hand at her, a _‘so, there!’_ gesture to Will.

“While outdated, 21st century technology is not completely useless,” Spock pitched in.

“Yeah, but most of this stuff is made useless with one part taken away,” Q replied. “Not even the tooth brushes can be deadly anymore!” Stark scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Molly chimed in, listing off ways that possible possessions could have been deadly, once upon a time. “The clothes would be great for a weapon like a whip or ahn-woon, if they didn’t break under that kind of pressure. The quills and such become useless in a fight with their tips, and even the crude medicines they gave us can’t be transformed into transmitters or explosives without stuff we don’t have here.”

Rose snorted. “I’m probably the most almost deadly person here,” she informed them. She waved around her wrist, with the unique carvings on the face. “This watch could be used to make either a laser or a transmitter, depending on what you like, but it needs things like silk metal and weaver pearls before you can get anywhere with it.”

There was a collective groan from all but Spock, who had grown still. “What is your medical kit equipped with, specifically, Miss Hooper?” He fixed his intense stare on Molly.

“Umm…t-the usual, I guess,” Molly stammered, wracking her brain for what in the conversation could have made him fixate on her. “Just bandages, ointment, an analogue dermal regenerator, some old suppressant—oh!” She got up, running for the medical kit, Spock quickly following. The others followed at a more sedate pace.

Molly practically collapsed by the bag, immediately staring to rip it open. Spock held out his hand to Rose. “Your watch, Miss Tyler. It will not be harmed,” he added when he saw her hesitate. She nodded carefully, slowly putting the gleaming silver in his hands.

“What’s this about, then?” Q demanded.

“You wouldn’t know, because it’s an old story, and specifically a medical one,” Molly said in a rush, throwing things over her shoulder. “But back in the late twenty first century, there was this huge craze about how the current omega heat suppressants were harmful to omegas, because they used fine elements of—”

“Silk metal and weaver pearls,” Will murmured, eyes lighting up.

“You think it’ll work?” Stark demanded.

Molly came up with a huge dusty bottle in her hand, the date printed clearly on the side: march 3rd 2042\. “Yes.”

 

“Captain,” Irene said, barely containing her grin. “We’re being hailed.”

 

Across space, on a trading outpost, a door to the Outpost Head’s quarters burst open. The man and women in the king sized circular bed shrieked, though the man will deny it to his dying day. The women, scantily clad in various eyesore neon shades, burrowed under the covers of the bed, trying to preserve what was left of their dignity.

“Ow, what the hell Nero?!” he shouted, trying to cover himself.

“The ship, with the prisoners, that we’re supposed to be guarding has a signal coming directly out of it, from an unregistered transmitter,” the Romulan in the doorway, General Nero, said.

“Well maybe they were callin’ in for the comforts o’ home,” he looked forlornly at the lumps in his sheet that not a minute ago had promised to be a fun night.

“It was going to an unregistered ship,” Nero told him, smirking coldly when the other man sat up straighter. “Most likely the rescue mission we were warned to keep an eye out for.”

The man blinked owlishly from his position on the bed, then his face slowly split into a manic grin. “Well,” Mudd, leader of the Romulan/Chitauri trading outpost, chuckled. “Let’s give ‘em a warm welcome.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave me a review!


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